


An Uneasy Partnership

by spookywoods



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Football, Gen, HP Cup Mini Fest, Pre-Slash, Rivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 18:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: Harry's been called up to play for the England Under-20 Squad. Ron and Hermione go to support him in the final match of qualifying for the U20s World Cup, and end up sitting next to friends of his biggest rival.Written for the October 2018 HP Cup Mini Fest Prompt: Rival Fans





	An Uneasy Partnership

**Author's Note:**

> I have been playing around with this idea for months! I have a larger story outlined but this is a snippet of something that happens in the middle of it. 
> 
> I am an avid football supporter, but I'm not from England so any mistakes or inaccuracies are my own. 
> 
> If you don't know much about football/soccer see the endnotes for clarifications and ramblings, but you shouldn't have to know all that stuff to read this.
> 
> Massive thanks to [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliemaye) for betaing!

“Ron, you’re going the wrong way.” 

“Nah, this is it. Just over here.” 

“Honestly, the sign back there said—”

“Have you been to six—SIX—” he held up both his hands to highlight the number, “—tournament championships?” 

Hermione shook her head. 

Ron took the opportunity to continue gloating, explaining each and every match he’d been to, who played, who won, and even more taxing, all the crazy things that happened during the games. Hermione didn’t understand half of them but nodded along as they made their way from the main walkway through the entrance to the main stands. 

The grand view of the pitch was spectacular. The sprinklers saturated the field, getting it ready for play, and the fresh scent of wet grass hung in the air. Even she was excited, and she hated these things. Harry hadn’t had a call-up since the U16s, and at nineteen years old he was eager to prove himself for his country’s national team. 

Ron seemed to get a hold of himself and brought his ranting back to the last game he’d attended: the most recent England Under 20s qualifying match for the U20 World Cup. 

“And it was right here at Wembley, so I can tell you our seats are just up there and to the—”

“Weasley! What are you doing here?” 

“Zabini,” Ron seethed. 

Hermione craned around Ron to see a tall young man standing against the seats who looked vaguely familiar. Scanning his face, she recognised him as one of the rejected midfielders from Ron’s old academy team. While Ron had been cut for many reasons, including his inability to pay his way forward, Zabini had been one of the ones able to pay but evidently lacking in actual footballing talent. Some things, it seemed, money couldn’t buy.

Hermione pulled her ticket out of her coat pocket and looked for their seat assignments. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here,” Zabini sneered. “I’m just shocked you could afford a ticket.” 

The truth was neither Hermione or Ron had purchased their tickets. The Football Association had allocated ten tickets to Harry for his friends and family. 

Ron chuckled, “I for one can’t believe they allow you anywhere near a pitch, not after the last showing you made at those Cardiff tryouts.” He nudged Hermione and said under his breath, “Not even the Cardiff seconds would take him.” 

“Oh,” came a feminine voice from behind them. A dark-haired, pale young woman snuck by Hermione and joined Zabini. “Let me guess? A Weasley?” 

Zabini laughed and nodded. “Right you are, Pansy.” 

She laughed, “I wasn’t aware we were at a League Two match.” 

Hermione scowled. Ron’s older brothers, Fred and George, were legends in the lower leagues but notoriously had never made it to a Championship or Premiership team. At least, not yet. Charlie Weasley played two seasons for Leeds United before tearing his achilles and opting out of his contract. He’d been a bright prospect as a young centre-forward, but the injury left him changed forever. He ended up loving veterinarian school anyway. 

“There’s nothing wrong with League Two,” Hermione said. “I’m sure Zabini here would sell his soul to trade places with either Fred or George.”

The woman—Pansy—frowned and turned away, staring off onto the pitch as the sprinklers turned off and the trainers started migrating out from the tunnels. 

Shuffling Ron toward their seats, Hermione was mortified to discover they’d been sat directly next to Zabini and his date with just a seat between them to spare. Neville would likely have the ticket for it.

Poor Neville, Hermione thought. 

“Oh look!” the woman exclaimed and pointed to the line of players walking out onto the pitch. “There’s Draco!” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. Perfect. She leaned in and whispered, “There’s no chance that there’s another Draco on the team who isn’t mortal enemies with Harry?” 

Ron turned to her and shook his head. “This is going to be a long night, ‘Mione.” 

She glanced back at the pitch and found Harry dribbling up the far side. When he spotted her and Ron, he waved. 

“Oh look, Pansy, “ Zabini drawled. “They’re here for Potter.” 

“Potty?” she crossed her arms. 

Hermione heard Ron clench his jaw so hard his teeth were grinding. 

Zabini smiled, “People can’t stop talking about how great Potter is but if he’s so fantastic, why isn’t he starting tonight?” 

Ron took the bait. “He’s just come off an injury, Zabini. But he’s still on the bench. Shacklebolt is easing him into the squad.” 

“They won’t need him,” Pansy stated. “Draco’s a much better winger than Potter will ever be.” 

Hermione bit her tongue. 

Draco Malfoy had been a thorn in Harry’s side since they were boys. It stemmed from some terrible misunderstanding at one of the first academy tryouts when they were eleven and escalated at every turn in his development. At age fifteen, he’d been more or less assured a place with Chelsea. He’d found out after they’d rejected him that Malfoy had been accepted, and his father had a spot on the board of directors. 

In the end, it didn’t matter. There were a handful of clubs eager to get Harry into their ranks. And as luck would have it, Manchester United scooped him up. It had never been difficult for Harry to get the acclaim he deserved at the club academy. His recent addition to the first team roster caused a stir. At seventeen, he’d been one of the first of his to age to score a goal in the Champions League tournament on his debut game. Since then, he’d exceeded expectations. 

But the England squad had been different. Where at the club, he’d been given a chance, for the last three years the national team seemed content with Malfoy and other wingers in the youth ranks. This was his first call-up in ages, and coming off his injury, Hermione knew he was eager to prove he deserved a spot playing for his country. Right now it was the Under 20s, but in a few years time it would be the real World Cup. And playing in that tournament for England, following in the footsteps of his father, was Harry’s biggest dream. 

But first, England had to win this game to advance to the U20s World Cup. 

Neville arrived a few minutes later just as thousands of others began shuffling into the stadium. There weren’t any other exchanges with Malfoy’s friends, but Hermione felt them listening to her conversations with Neville and Ron. She even saw Zabini roll his eyes when Neville said how excited he was to see Harry play. 

When the players went back in after warm ups, the bustling grew loud, and the excitement on the air was electric. There were a few Belgium supporters sitting near them and they seemed just as excited to be there. Ron exchanged a few words with them, welcoming them to the stadium and wish them a good game. Hermione noted how odd it was that the rival fans should be so amiable. It seemed Malfoy’s friend were the real rival fans.

Minutes went by and then the players walked out of the tunnel dressed in their kits, lining up in front of the stands. While the national anthems played, Hermione watched Harry. He looked so different from the boy she’d known in school. Gone were the wire spectacles and lanky frame, replaced with contact lenses and broad, muscular shoulders. The hair was the same as ever, long and wild, making him look like he’d just survived a torrential gust of wind. 

If he was nervous, it didn’t show. In fact, he smiled with casual confidence as he shook the hands of the Belgium team. While the teams moved down the line exchanging handshakes, her eyes finally fell to Draco Malfoy’s lithe frame. Where Harry was built to house strength and dominate the space he occupied on the pitch, Draco Malfoy possessed a graceful form, using both his speed and his technical ability to dazzle his opponents. It had been silly of Malfoy’s friends to compare them. On paper, they did the same things for their teams, but on the pitch, they brought an entirely different approach. 

Hermione idly thought how devastating they could be if they were ever on the same pitch, working together. But things like that rarely happened and she dismissed the idea. More often than not, managers substituted like-for-like positions. And there was only room for one of them on the field at any given time. 

Seventy-eight minutes later, her meandering thought came to be a reality. 

“I can’t believe it,” Blaise Zabini shouted. 

Hermione glanced at the fourth official. Harry was at the sideline waiting to come on. Belgium was up by one goal to nil, and England had been scrambling to equalise. Shacklebolt had waited too long to make a substitution, hoping the players on the field would be able to do the job. But something was missing. 

“Shacklebolt is daft to sub Draco now! He’s been our only hope at getting a goal!” 

Ron shook his head. “He’s bottled all his chances, mate. Time for a professional to get the job done.” 

“Oh please,” Pansy Parkinson sneered. “A Weasley telling us about what it means to be a professional.” 

“Guys,” Neville chimed in. Hermione turned to him and then followed his outstretched hand as he pointed to the touchline. Harry stood jumping up and down, getting psyched up to come on the field. 

“How many starts has Malfoy had for Chelsea this season?” Ron quipped. “None!” 

“Guys,” Neville repeated, this time pointing to the board. Harry’s number was in green and the number of the player being subbed off was in red. 

“Harry’s coming on for Smith, not Malfoy,” Hermione breathed. 

Zabini gasped. “What?” 

Ron shook his head. “Shacklebolt’s bloody brilliant!”

“He’s mad,” Pansy frowned. “We need that defence in the midfield!” 

Hermione watched Harry stride onto the pitch. He shouted a few formation changes at this teammates, then eyed Malfoy. They exchanged a few words before Malfoy frowned, nodded, and ran to the other side of the pitch, taking a lower position on the right side of midfield. 

Harry was playing up top as striker which meant it would fall to his shoulders to get a goal.

The team adjusted to the loss of a defensive midfielder by hanging back and pressing less. Only two others followed Harry and Malfoy forward and into the box during attacking sequences. During the next ten minutes, Harry and Malfoy managed to find each other for six chances on goal. Their defence didn’t seem to know what to do with both of them, marking Malfoy only to lose Harry in crosses and set pieces. Hermione could barely believe her eyes as Malfoy and Harry passed back and forth with ease, expertly finding each other with instinctive knowledge of their movements. But no matter how perfect their connections, the Belgium team keeper saved all of them. 

It wasn’t until one of the Belgium defenders pulled on Harry’s shirt in the box that hope started to bubble up in the crowd. 

The referee called a penalty. 

“That’s soft,” Ron breathed, “But I’ll take it.” 

There was some argument among the team on who would take the penalty, but in the end, Harry stepped up to the spot. With this hands on his hips and his chest heaving, he stared down the goalkeeper. The tension rose with every breath; the entire stadium waited for the referee’s whistle. When it sounded, Harry ran up to the ball, faked right, and then sent it straight down the center after the keeper had committed to going right. 

England equalised. 

The stadium erupted in screams and shouts, and Harry smiled as he made his way to the midfield to line up for kickoff. The teams took their places and Hermione noticed Malfoy scowling, shouting something at Harry from across the pitch. 

Frowning, Harry shook his head and brushed him off. 

The game clock hit ninety minutes and the referee added three minutes of injury time. By the second minute, the Belgians had caught the team on a quick counter, rescuing the ball from Harry’s feet and sending it down the field to one of their skilled forwards. Hermione watched the seconds count up as the Belgians drew out their attack, passing for the sake of passing and wasting time. 

In the final seconds of the game, Malfoy went in for a tackle and stole the ball in a daring display of precision and skill. He dribbled to the halfway line and sent the ball soaring across the pitch where Harry had been lurking just outside the box. Managing to stay onside, Harry got the pass and wove his wave through the defenders, dipped close to goal—close enough for a shot. 

But he chipped the ball backward. The entire stadium gasped. 

Malfoy soared forward in the box and headed the high ball into the right side of the net in a breathless display. 

“Holy shit!” Ron bolted up and started screaming. Hermione joined him. All of Wembley were on their feet, shouting and clapping.

The entire England team ran up to Malfoy as he strode forward in celebration. Hermione noticed Harry clap Malfoy on the back, the gesture earning him a smirk in return. The teams headed to the center field for what would be a kickoff and hopefully the final whistle, but with little semblance of calm. Hermione could taste the adrenaline on the air. They’d all just witnessed something truly special. 

When the ref blew the final whistle, the stadium erupted in screams of praise. They won two goals to one and were headed to the U20s World Cup. 

Neville turned to Hermione. “That was insane!” 

“That was all Draco,” Pansy butted in. 

“He’d never have got a header like that without Harry’s amazing assist,” Neville said, puffing up his chest. 

Hermione interjected, “Both of them won the game for us.” She raised a brow. “Together they’re unstoppable.” 

Their chemistry on the field was undeniable. Hermione hoped that whatever problems they’d had before could be resolved. Because after their winning display, she had a feeling they would be thrown together on and off the pitch for most of the foreseeable future. They’d both undoubtedly be called up to the U20s World Cup where they’d have to learn to work together through training and the tournament. 

“Harry’s gone and done it,” Ron shook his head. 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

Ron pointed to the section of the stands that sat some of football’s elite: scouts, former players, managers, and owners. Hermione’s eyes fell on the Chelsea manager. 

“He’s going to bump Malfoy up to the first team now,” Ron said. 

Hermione shook her head. “How do you know?” 

He shrugged. “It’s what I would do after what I just saw.” He frowned. “Man United’s playing Chelsea in three weeks at Stamford Bridge.” 

“Back to rivals,” she nodded. 

“They never stopped being rivals, ‘Mione. We just saw Harry get subbed on and save the game. He drew the penalty and he made the assist for the winning goal.” 

“But,” Hermione narrowed her eyes, “Malfoy set up the play for that goal.” 

Ron touted, “But Harry’s presence shifted the entire mood out on the pitch. Without him, we’d never have won.” He crossed his arms. “I’m telling you, their rivalry just got cemented in stone.” 

Hermione shook her head. Harry and Malfoy looked as if they could conquer any team together. Connections like that didn’t happen often. It would serve them both to harness it, not use it to feed their hatred. “I will never understand this game.”

“It’s beautiful,” he smiled. “Isn’t it?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes on English Football/Soccer:** There are four main levels of English Football. Starting at the top with the Premier League. Then the English Football League which consists of three divisions: the Championship, League One, League Two. All of these are considered professional leagues. In the Premier League, _Manchester United_ and _Chelsea Football Club_ are two of the oldest, most decorated teams in England with deep rivalries and passionate supporters. Most clubs at this level have youth academies that have teams as young as five years old. They also have a league structure for these teams based on age. For example: Manchester United U23s play the Chelsea U23s. 
> 
> **Notes on International Football/Soccer:** There are youth levels that compete in tournaments across the world referred to by the highest age of the players. The Under 17s to the Under 20s are extremely competitive not only for players to make their mark for future places and possible call-ups to the National Team (senior squad). But it's also a showcase to catch the eye of club teams across the world. It is considered the highest honor to play for your country and everyone's dream to go to the World Cup. 
> 
> Player Positions and terms:  
> a centre-back is a defender  
> a winger is someone who travels up and down the fringes of the field, is fast enough to cut inside, and has great skill with the ball, positioning, and is usually a top scorer or top assister  
> midfielder is someone who generally stays between the two boxes, but there are a wide array of skill sets and types of midfielders, attack-minded or defence  
> centre-forward is someone who stays high on up the field on the offense, is centrally located, scores lots of goals, and generally creates lots of space by distracting defending players with their movement
> 
> Penalty: a referee can call a penalty kick to be taken if an offensive player is somehow impeded by a defensive player making a goalscoring opportunity within the box. In this fic, it's shirt pulling. When someone says a penalty is "soft", it means they've seen people get away with it before/or they wouldn't personally call it a penalty. The penalty kick consists of a single player, usually designated before the game starts, who takes a kick with only the keeper to stop it, although the


End file.
